


The Vile Snake Will Always Sting You

by gleefulmusings



Category: Glee
Genre: Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/gleefulmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,<br/>And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;<br/>He knew human folly like the back of his hand,<br/>And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;<br/>When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,<br/>And when he cried the little children died in the streets.</p><p> </p><p>W.H. Auden</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a pleasant story, but it is one I felt compelled to write. Its rating is due to the subject matter, not content, which occurs off the page. Nevertheless, I wish to warn again that this story could be triggering.
> 
> I don't know if I'll add more to this. I just needed to write it to excise from my mind.
> 
> Please be advised that I am not a medical or legal expert and have taken liberties with such to suit the story.

Amy Berman blinked bleary eyes as she once again looked at the clock. Another seven minutes and her shift was over. It would take her thirty minutes to get home, probably another thirty to wind down enough to sleep, and then she would begin her second shift in four hours. Prodding her three children out of bed, hosing them down, feeding them, and sending them off to school was always more difficult than wrangling a surly patient or an irritated physician.

She hadn’t thought nursing would be like this. She had studied hard, nailed her practicals, and arrived at St. Rita’s with a shiny degree and a desire to help. Twelve years later, she sometimes wondered if she had actually helped anyone. It was so disappointing but she only had herself to blame.

She sighed and shook off her maudlin thoughts. She loved nursing, she did, and she loved this hospital. She knew she had helped, that she was appreciated, and that the work she did mattered. It had just been a very bad night. Three overdoses, two of whom hadn’t survived; one teenager with alcohol poisoning whose drunk father had shown up to berate his son; one suspected case of child abuse; and a resident who thought her degree somehow made her better and more knowledgeable than a nursing staff who had been doing this job since she’d been in Pampers.

She was finishing up her last chart and debating whether or not she dared have a glass of wine when she got home when she heard someone stumbling around the corner.

She frowned. Odd. The emergency room had been cleared and the next onslaught didn’t usually arrive for another four hours. Regardless, how did they get past reception? She tilted her head.

A boy, probably a teenager given the height, though he looked much younger. He was limping, obviously in pain. His nose and mouth were bleeding and he had the beginnings of what would be a massive black eye. His hair was standing on end even as he tried in vain to flatten it.

Amy took a step toward him and he immediately froze, panting slightly. His uninjured eye, wild and terrified, scanned the hallway. He looked as though he was being hunted.

She stood still and observed him closely, not wanting to startle him, and to get a better assessment.

His shirt had been misbuttoned. It was gaping at the collar and pulling to the left. There was a large, angry red mark on his clavicle. The opposite sleeve was ripped at the shoulder. No. Torn. His pants were unbuttoned and he was desperately trying to keep them on his waist.

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she bit her lips. She had seen this too often not to recognize what it was. She pushed away her sadness and anger; they had no place now. Her mind focused instead on the sexual assault protocol, one she knew by heart and had to use far too many times.

“Hi,” she said gently. “Do you need help?”

He stared at her.

Even from this distance, she could see his glassy eyes. Drugs, perhaps, but most likely a concussion.

“This is the hospital,” he slurred, almost surprised he knew where he was.

“Yes, it is,” she said slowly.

“Good,” he said, nodding to himself and then wincing at the pain it caused. “That’s good. I never thought I’d get here. It seemed so far.”

Her heart sank. “Did you walk here, honey?”

“Yes. I had to stop many times. My feet hurt. My … everything … hurts.”

“Well,” Amy said briskly, “we should get you a doctor.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

She paused. “Would you … would you prefer a female doctor?”

The response was immediate and accompanied by a deep shudder. “Yes, please, if it’s no trouble.”

“Of course not. Are you able to follow me into this room over here?” She turned and headed to the nearest exam room.

“I think so, yes.”

And he did, slowly and painfully, but he did.

“Would you like to sit down?”

He hung his head. “I don’t think I can,” he whispered.

No matter how many times she’d walked a patient through this process, it never really got easier. She would get no sleep this night, she knew, and it was fine. The kids could stay home from school for all she cared. Her husband could pack his own lunch. She wasn’t leaving.

“That’s okay, honey. You can do whatever you want.”

He swallowed heavily. “Thank you.”

“Could you tell me your name?”

“Kurt. My name is Kurt.”

She forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Kurt. My name is Amy. I’m one of the emergency room nurses.” She paused. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain, sweetie, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you. Can you tell me what brought you here tonight?”

He was silent for a long time before he limped over toward the window and stared out at the parking lot sprawled before him, the streetlights casting their sickly sulphurous glow across the cracked asphalt.

“I was raped.” 

* * *

Seven minutes later, Kurt and Amy were joined by a plump, bespectacled woman of indeterminate age who first identified herself as Dr. Hawkins before then insisting Kurt call her Cathy. Her voice was surprisingly deep and soothing.

She explained to Kurt that no one else would be joining them in the examination room and that he was safe there. Kurt only gave her a dull nod in reply, still staring out the window.

Cathy exchanged an anxious glance with Amy, both realizing the boy was in shock and needed to be treated quickly.

“Kurt, Amy told me that you have been sexually assaulted. Is that right?”

More silence. Finally a nod.

“I’m very worried about your injuries, Kurt, and not just the visible ones. There might be internal damage.”

He made a sound in his throat, something small and quiet and pathetic, like a wounded kitten.

Cathy took a step forward, waiting until she was sure he could see her from the corner of her eye. “I’d very much like to examine you, Kurt, so that I can begin treating you and so that you can get some sleep, which I’m guessing you desperately need right now.”

“Sleep?” he whispered. “I’d like some of that, please.”

She turned and nodded to Amy, who immediately went to the cupboard by the sink, pulled out a drawer, and pulled out a folded paper sheet, which she opened and spread across the floor.

“Kurt,” Cathy said gently, “I’m going to tell you everything I do before I do it and if you get nervous, if you get scared, I want you to tell me, okay? And I’ll stop. You call the shots here.”

His only response was broken, hysterical laughter. It segued into a rattling cough.

“Kurt?” she whispered.

“I know what’s happening,” he assured her. “I’ve seen the television movies. Read the pamphlets. I know where I am and why I’m here. You’re supposed to go to the hospital after something like this happens. You want to collect evidence.”

“Yes, I do,” she said honestly.

“Then I can take a shower?”

“You can do whatever you want, Kurt. I promise you that.”

He sighed, so softly she almost missed it, and nodded.

“I’d like you to step over here, please, Kurt, and stand in the middle of this sheet.”

“Trace. Fibers. I watch a lot of SVU. I like Olivia. She tries so hard.”

Cathy’s lips trembled. “Yes, she does. I like her, too.”

“I … I can be strong? Like her?”

“You are _very_ strong, Kurt. Don’t ever forget that. What happened was _not_ your fault. You’ve done everything right. You _survived_. You got yourself here. We’re going to take care of you, I promise.”

“Okay,” he whispered. He turned and walked to the center of the room, one arm now cradled against his chest.

“Would you like me to call a counselor?”

“No, thank you,” he said quickly. “Just you and Amy.”

Cathy nodded. “That’s fine,” she said, quickly noting it in his chart. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“Not right now, thank you. I’d like to get this over with, please, so I can take that shower.”

“Whatever you want, Kurt, is what we’ll do. The first thing I need, and I know you don’t want to do this, is for you to disrobe.”

He flushed and looked down. “I can’t raise my arms above my head.”

“That’s okay. Would it be all right if Amy cut the clothes away?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” he fervently whispered.

Amy gloved up and was behind him in an instant, making sure to keep her feet off the mat. She carefully began cutting the back of Kurt’s shirt from the waist up. As she went, she could feel Kurt desperately suppressing the need to shrug them off, but he stopped himself.

Over the sound of the scissors, she could hear flakes of dried flood hitting the mat below. At last she cut through the collar and began pushing the shirt over his shoulders before gently taking the cuffs in her hands and pulling it free. She immediately bagged it.

The first thing she saw after that were the bloodstains on his backside. She swallowed bile.

“Can you tell me your last name, Kurt?” Cathy asked, eyeing with great solemnity the bruises littering his chest and arms, most in the shape of fingers. He had obviously been held down with great force. He was still favoring his shoulder. She wanted it x-rayed as soon as possible. Her gaze traveled down his arm. The entire wrist was encircled by a bruise.

“Hummel.” He spelled it.

His arm had been twisted and pulled behind him. The attacker had most likely laid atop him with his full weight. The shoulder might be dislocated, the wrist fractured. She would order an x-ray of the entire limb.

She saw the bite-mark on his clavicle Amy had earlier noted, and there was one around his right nipple, which was crusted with congealing blood.

“And how old are you, honey?”

Her eyes tightened at the dried semen stains on his stomach.

“Seventeen. I was a virgin. I wanted to wait until I met the right guy. I thought I had. I never knew I was so stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid, Kurt,” she insisted. “This man abused your trust. You are not at fault here.”

“I don’t make very good decisions when it comes to men. I should have known better. I should have seen this coming. He knows I don’t like it when he drinks.”

Cathy paused. “Has this happened before?”

“No,” Kurt whispered. “Until tonight, I didn’t think he even wanted me … that way. He’s never really shown any interest. He wanted to tonight, but I didn’t want to.” He turned toward her. “I said no. I _swear_ I said no.”

Amy began cutting up the sides of his pants.

“I believe you,” Cathy said.

“No one else will. This is my fault. I went to the bar with him. I got into the car with him. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off. I’m taller than him. Stronger. I should have fought harder.”

“Kurt,” she said sharply, “I want you to listen to me. It’s obvious from your injuries just how hard you fought. That’s not even a question. You _always_ have the right to say no. This is _your_ body, not someone else’s to do with as they wish. I don’t care if it was a stranger or a boyfriend. The moment you said no and he refused to stop, it was rape.”

“I froze. I just … froze … like some dumb animal right before the trap springs. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Even now I don’t know if I believe it.”

“You’re in shock. You’re in pain. You’ve been through one of the worst experiences anyone can have, but you survived it, Kurt. You need to remember that.”

Amy finally managed to cut through the waistband and his pants fell away from his body in two sections. She bagged them quickly and efficiently. She then reached down and unlaced his boots.

“Can you step out of these for me, honey?”

He did, with great difficulty. She then cut down his socks and over the tops of his feet. He raised them when prompted so she might collect them.

“Kurt …”

“Pictures next, right?”

She gave him a sober nod. “I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Please don’t apologize. You’re just doing your job. May I leave my underwear on?”

Cathy winced. “I’m sorry, Kurt, but we need to collect your underwear.”

He was silent for minutes. “Okay,” he finally whispered, quickly pushing them down and stepping out of them.

“After the pictures,” Cathy said, “I’ll examine you and you can take your shower.”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Amy was brutally efficient with the pictures, not wanting to prolong his exposure any more than necessary. She took several from afar, asking him to turn every ninety degrees. She then took several close shots, particularly of his shoulder, arm, wrist, and the bite-marks. There was another bruise the size of a fist over his right kidney, and one of a similar size in the middle of his back.

She just wanted to go home and hug her kids, the eldest of which was only two years younger than the child before her.

After the pictures were complete and Amy had labeled the paper bags of his clothes and shoes, she folded up the mat and placed it in its own bag. She then quickly tied a gown at Kurt’s neck and back.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said quietly.

“Kurt,” Cathy said, “I want to ask you again: is there anyone I can call for you?”

Again he was silent for a very long time.

Part of Cathy wanted to insist he allow her to call his parents, but the guidelines were clear: victims of sexual assault, regardless of age, were guaranteed complete confidentiality. Kurt was a minor, but she couldn’t make the call without his express permission. It opened her and the hospital to a lawsuit.

She did, however, have to call the police, because a crime had been committed. It was up to Kurt whether or not he wanted to press charges, and she prayed to god he would, but, again, she couldn’t compel him. Still, he had allowed her to collect evidence. This suggested he was at least thinking about it, even if he couldn’t yet process it rationally.

This was a smart boy, a good boy, and she silently raged at what had been done to him.

He finally rattled off a name and number, which Cathy quickly jotted down and handed to Amy. The exam would be more efficient were Amy to stay and assist, but Cathy had the feeling if too many people were involved, Kurt might object. It was better to do it herself, even if took longer, and she was going to document every goddamn thing that animal had done to this child.

“Kurt,” Amy said, “do I have your permission to disclose to this person why you’re here?”

He gave a tired nod and she left the room.

Cathy asked him to lie down on the table. This would be the worst part.

* * *

The incessant chirping of the damnable phone woke her from a sound sleep which had heavily featured a naked and oiled Matt Damon dancing around a pit of fire as Will Schuester roasted on a spit.

She furiously ripped the sleep mask from her face and threw it across the room before grabbing the phone and roaring hoarse yet inventive threats into the receiver.

“Is this Sue Sylvester?”

She grunted.

“Ms. Sylvester, my name is Amy Berman. I’m a nurse in the ER at St. Rita’s.”

Sue blinked in confusion as her mind to process that statement. She reached up and wiped her eyes and ran a hand through her hair.

“Yeah, so?”

“I have one of your students with me in the emergency room and he asked that I call you.”

She frowned heavily. What?

“Ms. Sylvester?”

“I heard you, I think. Who is it?”

"His name is Kurt Hummel.”

Sue instantly went on high alert, snapping on the light beside the bed and glancing down at the clock. She parked the phone in the crook of her shoulder and dashed to her closet, pulling out the first track suit on which she could gain purchase.

“What’s wrong with Porcelain?”

She knew it was bad. First, Kurt Hummel didn’t go to hospitals if he could avoid it. She knew how much he hated them. Everyone did. Second, if he was asking her to be called, it was logical Burt Hummel had no idea what was going on, and that kicked up her fear and rage to an atomic level.

“Kurt is in serious but stable condition. He’s currently being examined by the physician on call. His injuries are … considerable and severe, but he is conscious.”

And he had asked for _her_ , trusted _her_. That fucking _mattered._ She had failed him before. She wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

Goddamn it!

Who had done it? That asshole Karofsky? That fucking meerkat from Hogwarts? She would get a name and then dig a grave.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded.

Because she knew there was something else. Kurt had been hurt before and usually kept it to himself. Severe injuries? That meant he wouldn’t be able to cover them with makeup.

“Ms. Sylvester …”

“Spit it out, woman!”

“Kurt has given me permission to disclose that he was sexually assaulted.”

Her vision narrowed to pinpricks of light.

No.

_No._

Unacceptable.

“Please say that again,” she said, struggling for civility.

“Kurt was raped tonight.”

A sob bubbled up in her chest before fleeing her mouth in a scream of rage.

She dropped the phone, grabbed her keys, and was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Cathy wanted to perform the rape kit first, even though the physical injuries, particularly the shoulder, required immediate care. She knew the sooner she could collect the evidence, the better. Biological degradation was a very real issue. Still, she followed protocol and put his injured arm in a sling to keep it stabilized until it was x-rayed. That was the most pressing physical trauma, other than the likely concussion.

She took a brief history which, while not as complete as she would have liked, was serviceable. Kurt’s answers were terse but complete, though his voice sounded distant and tinny. The adrenaline which had allowed him to walk to the hospital was leaving his body. He would crash soon. She knew he was embarrassed and resentful of the repeated questions, but she wanted everything done by the book in case he decided to prosecute.

He reiterated that he had been a virgin, but this time made clear that he meant it in every sense of the word. He had never participated in any sexual activity, including oral sex and mutual masturbation. She took a buccal sample to run as an exemplar in the DNA analysis, and a blood sample to screen for alcohol, drugs, and sexually transmitted infections.

Kurt was somewhat affronted by that, which she understood, and insisted he didn’t drink and hadn’t ever consumed anything but prescription medication. She had no reason to believe otherwise. He was entirely lucid.

Thankfully he was on no other medications and had an unremarkable history. There were the usual childhood injuries: a few broken bones and sprains, but nothing major. No surgeries.

She then examined him from head to toe, this time measuring the bruises and bite-marks, plucked a hair with its root from his head, and combed his pubic region. His uninjured hand curled into a fist, probably an instinct to block her and safeguard his modesty, but it remained at his side.

As she collected swabs from the inside and outside of the mouth and around the bites, she struggled to remember a patient whose behavior hallmarked Kurt’s own. She came up empty.

Silence wasn’t unusual and he indeed had lapsed into it. Many victims being examined tended not to speak, flashing back to when their voice had been ignored or their screams remained only in their minds. But Kurt was not only silent, he was abnormally in control. She explained the entire process as she went, but he never shivered, never winced, never flinched.

This was beyond mere shock. His mind had shut down and he was now on autopilot.

She carefully swabbed his face and the back of his neck in case the attacked had cried or sweated. On occasion, the rapist cried during the attack and DNA was left behind

She then swabbed and scraped from the semen stains on his stomach, swallowing her revulsion. The rapist, obviously not satisfied by stealing Kurt’s virginity and causing tremendous physical harm, had roughly flipped the boy over and ejaculated onto his chest to complete the humiliation.

What a _bastard_.

He had said his partner had never done this before, and she believed him, but she couldn’t help but suspect the boy had been the victim of _some_ kind of abuse. Something had happened to him prior, she didn’t know what, and he had either been ignored or disbelieved. There was a sense about him that indicated this was, if not necessarily familiar, at least expected.

He clenched when she swabbed his rectum, but otherwise made no sound. Not even a whimper. He had tearing and a rather large fissure which would require stitches. This damage was not the worst she had seen, but it was severe. Whoever had done this hadn’t cared about the injuries Kurt would most certainly sustain. It was obscene.

She carefully sutured him but, though she had a gentle touch and flawless technique, there was nothing she could do for the pain. She really hated that part, inflicting even more trauma to an injury already traumatized enough, but there was no choice. The consequences of not doing it were much worse.

Cathy thanked god the child had the wherewithal to get himself to the hospital. She couldn’t even imagine what would have happened had he gone home and tried to treat himself; or worse, ignored his injuries in an attempt to block them from his mind.

She peppered her explanations with whispered encouragements, telling Kurt that he was smart, that he was so brave, that it would be over soon. She worried he would feel she was condescending to him or being overly placating, but he offered tiny nods which indicated he was listening.

A sick feeling began coursing through her, one which suggested he was trying to be strong for _her_ , that he was trying to please _her_. She swallowed heavily and called for Amy, who reentered the room to collect the swabs and get them to the lab.

“Kurt, honey, Ms. Sylvester is here,” she said quietly. “Would you like her to come in?”

“Yes, please,” he said after a long beat.

“Kurt,” Cathy interrupted, “why don’t you just lie here for a moment while I go talk to your friend, and then you can take your shower.”

“All right,” he whispered.

She stood and stretched her back. She turned and caught sight of Kathy. She quickly looked down at the floor when she noted the tears streaking down the face of her best nurse. She herself would cry later, after Kurt went home. She suspected she’d be crying for the rest of the day.

It never got any easier.

* * *

Cathy took a deep breath and entered the hallway, closing the door softly behind her. She took off her gloves and threw them in the biohazard receptacle by the nurses’ desk. She blinked rapidly, cleared her throat, and squared her shoulders. She knew who she was meeting; the woman had been featured on the local news often enough.

She turned the corner and nodded sharply at Sue Sylvester, who looked decidedly unlike herself. Tall and lithe, though a little bottom heavy, her face was drawn and wan under the fluorescent lights, which leant her complexion a waxy, pasty pallor. Her hair was in disarray, all but standing on end, and she paced back and forth, arms clutched tightly around her body.

“Ms. Sylvester? I’m Doctor Cathy Hawkins, the physician assigned to Kurt’s case.”

Sue paused and turned, meeting the woman’s eyes before quickly looking away. “I need you to tell me again what happened to my Porcelain, because I refuse to accept what that nurse person said.”

“Ms. Sylvester …”

“Call me Sue,” the woman hissed. “Tell me what happened.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“No. Tell me what happened.”

Cathy took a deep breath and exhaled. “Kurt arrived here about an hour ago and presented with serious physical injuries.”

“What injuries?”

“He has a black eye that is now swollen shut. I’ll want an x-ray to rule out an orbital or cheekbone fracture. His nose was broken, which I’ve reset, but will probably require plastic surgery to restore its form.”

“He was punched in the face. Hard.”

“Most likely several times,” Cathy confirmed.

“Concussion?”

“Yes, moderate to severe.”

Sue nodded and resumed her pacing, indicating to the woman to continue.

“His left shoulder is likely dislocated, but I’ll need an x-ray to confirm. His left wrist is severely bruised, most likely from being yanked and held behind him. I’ll also want an x-ray of that and the entire arm to check for fractures. It’s possible his rotator cuff has been torn, and there is damage to the ligaments.”

“Porcelain is a dancer and a cheerleader. He excels at both. What impact will these injuries have on his ability to perform?”

Cathy hesitated. “I’m uncertain. Until I have the x-rays, I would only be guessing, but Kurt is young and healthy. It’s more than probable that he will recover full function, but physical therapy will probably be necessary.”

Sue grunted. “Next.”

“He is heavily bruised over much of his body. His right ankle is sprained and his left strained. His right hand is swollen and bloodied.”

“He fought.”

“He fought very hard, Sue,” Cathy said quietly.

“Kid’s strong, doesn’t put up with shit. He’s always stood up for himself. He’s a fighter to his core.”

Cathy said nothing.

“Go on.”

“The sexual assault …”

“Stop,” Sue interrupted, holding up a hand. “Call it what it is. I don’t want to hear _sexual assault_ or _sexual battery_ or _taken by force_. Euphemisms aren’t going to cut it. Call it what it is.”

“He was raped.”

“Again.”

“Kurt was raped.”

Sue hunched over and forced herself to breathe evenly for several long moments. “Injuries?”

“Kurt was forcibly sodomized both anally and orally,” Cathy said softly. “There is significant damage.”

Sue vomited.

* * *

A dazed Sue sat in an ugly and uncomfortable chair, meekly accepting a plastic cup of water from the doctor, who had already called an orderly to clean up the mess.

She was furious with herself. What kind of idiot threw up like that? She needed to be strong. She had to be strong for Porcelain. That was why he had them call her, because he needed her strength now.

The tears seemed to freeze in her eyes before they could fall. That pissed her off, because she knew she would feel better if she could just cry, but she couldn’t. Had to be strong.

He had fought. Of course he had fought. She wouldn’t expect anything less of him. He had fought his entire life. Even at his worst moment, he had fought. He had been strong. She would do no less for him now.

“Who did it?” she hissed, raising blazing eyes at the doctor. “Who did this obscenity?”

Cathy looked away. “Kurt has yet to identify the assailant, but indicated that it was his partner.”

Sue curled a lip. “That miserable, execrable, odious, overly-gelled little worm!”

“Then you know him.”

Sue rolled her eyes at the obvious remark. “Blaine Anderson. He’s a limelight-seeking, melodramatic, selfish, entitled asshole.” She growled deep in her throat. “Have you called the police?”

Cathy nodded. “Kurt is a minor and a crime has been committed against him. It’s protocol.”

“He is not to be questioned alone,” Sue snapped.

“Absolutely not.”

Sue bit back an automatic retort and gave a gruff nod. “It happened tonight? Where?”

“Outside a bar called Scandals, in the assailant’s car.”

“How did Porcelain get here? Did he call an ambulance?”

“He walked.”

Sue stared. “That’s over ten miles.”

Cathy said nothing.

“He walked over ten miles on a dark highway, alone, at night, with those injuries and after being raped?”

“He’s a very strong boy.”

Sue turned her head. “No one should have to be that strong.” She forcibly cleared her throat. “Have you informed his father?”

“Not yet. Kurt didn’t ask me to do so and, legally, without his consent, I cannot.”

“So I have to do it.”

“We can …”

“No, I’ll do it. You don’t know these people. I do.”

* * *

Sue stared down at the phone, whose receiver she was gripping. The doctor had left to help Porcelain take a shower. The police were waiting to question him, and Sue was damned if they would do so without her, which meant she needed to hurry this up.

The doctor was good. She was taking good care of him. It appeared she too had fallen under the Spell of Porcelain. Sue had yet to meet a woman other than that Barbra wannabe who wasn’t wrapped around Porcelain’s finger.

That made her think of William’s damnable band of misfits.

This would destroy them. She had done everything in her power to do it herself and they had always fought her and, though it pained her to admit, triumphed. She honestly hoped they would triumph again.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid of what this would do to Pierce. That idiot child was sweet to the point of insulin poisoning, a pure soul who believed that people were inherently kind and good. No matter how many times she’d been knocked down, she got right back up and held tightly to her idealism.

Pierce loved Porcelain. Sue was sure there was even a part of the girl who was _in_ love with Porcelain. He had been the only man ever to treat her well.

She didn’t know how Fabray would react. Sue liked to think she knew her charges better than they knew themselves, but Fabray had always been difficult to read. She was a lot like Porcelain in many ways: too damned smart for her own good, kept her emotions in check, stronger than a kid should have to be at that age. She remained cool and calm, aloof and detached, at almost all times.

Lopez would probably have to be hogtied, because she was a powder keg just waiting to explode. She had been the only one who had tried to get Porcelain back to McKinley, expending more effort on that one feat than she ever had anything in her entire life. Most people didn’t know just how close they were, which was fine because neither of them wanted it to get out, but Sue had noticed and even approved.

Lopez would kill Anderson, Sue was sure, and she didn’t know if the girl could be stopped. She didn’t know if she even wanted the girl stopped. The problem was Lopez had zero skills at subtlety, which meant she would be caught and Porcelain would blame himself for his friend doing something irrevocably stupid. Fuck.

As for the rest, she didn’t know and didn’t care. LaBelle would be loud in her anger and mourning, as she was about everything. Berry would make it about her; again, as she did everything. Asian and Other Asian would probably cry sad Asian tears. Wheels and Porcelain were once best friends, but that changed after they started McKinley. She was interested in how he'd react.

After Lopez, the immediate concern was Puckerman, because he had about all the self-control of an anemic vampire. When he got pissed off, a veil of red would descend over his eyes and he acted first and thought never. The imbecile was already on probation and old enough to be tried as an adult. Sue really didn’t care what happened to him, but Porcelain would.

Porcelain cared about all of them, even though he shouldn’t. Even though they had betrayed him at every opportunity. That was the thing she liked the least about him, that he _cared_.

In many ways, Porcelain was her ideal student. He was slow to trust, gave respect only if it was first shown to him, had no compunction about speaking his mind, and punished his enemies. Problem was, he too often stood up for others instead of himself. He too often forgave those who had wormed their way into his heart.

She really fucking hoped that wouldn’t be the case with the jaundiced Hobbit.

She didn’t think it would. That Porcelain had walked all the way here, that he had disclosed and allowed himself to be examined, that he had allowed evidence to be taken … these suggested not only that he was aware of what happened, but that he wanted vengeance for what had been stolen from him.

And she would see that he got it.

But first, she had to tell his family.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

Carole glanced at the clock on bedside table and frowned.

It was odd Kurt wasn’t yet home. He always called or texted if he was going to be late. He was just responsible like that. She reached over and checked her phone. Ever since the heart attack, Burt was difficult to rouse, so Carole fielded the calls when the boys were out at night.

She blinked and shook her head. For all she knew, Kurt _was_ home and asleep in bed. The boy was as quiet as a mouse and the basement had its own entrance. Unlike Finn, Kurt could be trusted with those amenities. Honestly, she didn’t know why Burt insisted on a curfew for Kurt, for the boy never abused the rules. Kurt was more an adult at seventeen than most adults her own age. She suspected he'd been that way even as a child.

She honestly hadn’t expected to love Kurt as much as she did. Oh, she had always been impressed by him: his intelligence, his successes in school, his ability to multitask and do everything well. He held down a job and two very demanding extracurriculars. He was dedicated to his friends and family, often going above and beyond what was necessary to make them happy.

Sometimes it was difficult not to resent Finn for his many shortcomings. She loved her son with everything inside of her, but he could be hardheaded and difficult. She knew he was capable of getting better grades, but he lacked motivation. He had given up at every job he’d ever held. The way he bounced back and forth between Quinn and Rachel was disturbing and, frankly, embarrassing. But he did try, he really did.

He was just still so immature. It startled her how Kurt and Finn, raised in different yet eerily similar circumstances, were such entirely different people. They had been both coddled by their surviving parents, but Kurt was goal-oriented and driven. He wanted out of this town and, given what he’d been through, she couldn’t blame him.

Finn, meanwhile, lacked ambition. He was content to go along to get along. She knew he had dreams, but he did nothing to achieve them, instead relying on his charm to muddle through. He was a good boy, but he was also selfish. Kurt could be self-centered, but he was also self-sacrificing, probably more than what was healthy.

She sighed and looked over at Burt. How she loved this man. How lucky she was they had found each other and created this family. It was difficult at times, but worth it. They loved their boys, and Kurt and Finn, despite their fights and silences, loved each other. She knew Finn would be crushed when Kurt went off to New York, just as she knew Kurt would miss Finn dreadfully.

She sighed gently, her lips quirking up in bemusement. Maybe that’s why she was up tonight. They had settled into their new life as a family, but circumstances would soon be changing. She knew Burt would be a mess when Kurt left for college, and Kurt would be no better. They had depended on each other, and only each other, for so long that the separation would not be an easy one, but they’d find their way.

She closed her book, determined to get some modicum of sleep before her shift tomorrow. She went to put the book on the nightstand, but it slipped through her fingers as she was suddenly hit with an unwelcome wave of prescience.

Then the phone rang.

* * *

Carole was already dressed and making a pot of coffee. Burt was still in the bedroom trying to come to grips with what he had been told as he hunted for something to put on. She had taken his keys so he couldn’t try and sneak off to the hospital.

She still couldn’t believe it herself. She didn’t want to believe it. There was a part of her still insisting that it just hadn’t happened, that something like that couldn’t happen to Kurt.

When she had been carrying Finn, she had often prayed for a son because she knew the dangers that waited in the world for daughters. She knew it could happen to boys, too, but instead eagerly embraced her naïveté, insisting on ignorance.

She dreaded telling the boys, resentful that it would be her who would shatter their innocence in a way that the politics of high school, money, Quinn’s pregnancy, and the tumultuous love lives of teenagers never could. She also knew she had to tell them if only to spare Kurt the agony of doing so himself. She knew it would be better coming from her than Burt.

Sylvester had told her first and then insisting on telling Burt herself. In a way, Carole understood. Sylvester had been the only one at that godforsaken school to stand up for Kurt. Burt knew that and respected it, though he didn’t like the woman.

He hadn’t said anything. He had sat up in the bed, bleary and still caught between that moment of sleep and wakefulness, and listened. He never said a word. He still hadn’t.

She knew this might very well break her husband.

Of everything Burt had ever feared might possibly befall his son, he never thought of this. No parent does.

She had roused Finn, Puck, and Sam and told them to get dressed, but not why. She wanted to tell them all at once. She couldn’t bear to have to repeat it. Finn and Puck had protested of course, and it had taken more time than she liked to wake them fully, but she could hear them stumbling around and knew they were obeying her orders.

Sam was a different case. He reminded her so much of Kurt in many ways. He was so kind and loving. Just a decent and generous soul. He was also in love with Kurt and, if what she suspected was true, had been for a very long time. This would devastate him.

Noah would be angry – no, furious – but he would also be more useful. He had never liked nor trusted Blaine, so he wouldn’t be burdened with the useless guilt which would soon come to infect Finn. Noah would focus only on Kurt, probably too much so, but Kurt needed everyone in his corner right now.

Finn would be heartbroken and enraged. There would be the initial disbelief and denial, but then it would sink in along with who had done this. Finn would remember that he had disliked Blaine at first but had then been won over. In fact, Finn was the friend to Blaine he had never been able to be to Kurt. That would kill him. It would kill him that he had misjudged the boy so badly, that he hadn’t protected Kurt as he had sworn.

“Mom, what the hell is going on?” Finn demanded as he stumbled into the kitchen, Sam and Noah on his heels.

“Sit down, Finn.”

“Mom!”

“Dude, just sit down, okay?” Sam said, pushing Finn into a chair.

Finn grumbled and stared at the coffee cup his mother passed to him, as if unable to recognize what it was.

Puck blinked at the mug sent his way and shook his head. He didn’t like coffee unless Kurt made it.

Sam just sat at the table, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, and waited.

“Finn, drink your coffee,” Carole said quietly, “I need you to be awake for this.”

“For what?” asked a cautious Puck.

Sam looked up into Carole’s eyes. “Where’s Kurt?” he whispered.

She looked away.

His breath hitched.

Puck immediately sat at attention.

Finn no longer required coffee. He was fully alert. “Where is my brother?”

“Kurt is in the hospital,” she said. “He’s been attacked.”

“What do you mean attacked?” Puck demanded. “Gay-bashed? What, some dick from school beat him up?”

“His injuries are severe, Noah.”

Puck narrowed his eyes. “ _How_ severe?”

“What are they?” Sam asked.

Carole took a breath. “His cheekbone has been fractured. His nose was broken. His shoulder is dislocated, his arm and wrist are broken. Most of his body is bruised. One ankle is sprained, the other is strained. Those are the worst of the physical injuries.”

“Someone attacked him from behind, then,” Puck said. “Held his arm behind him.”

“But he’s alive, right?” asked a panicked Finn.

“He’s alive,” she assured him. “His arm and wrist will be in a cast and also in a sling. They managed to realign his shoulder, but his rotator cuff was torn and will eventually require surgery and physical therapy. He’ll also need to see a plastic surgeon to restore his nose. A couple of his teeth were knocked loose. They’re not yet sure about those, but they may need to be replaced with implants.”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Puck muttered, glaring down at the kitchen table.

“There’s more.”

“More?” Finn screeched.

She sighed. “Honey, K-Kurt was … Kurt was …” She closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. “Kurt was r-raped.”

He cocked his head and stared at her. “What? What did you just say?”

Puck stood, kicked his chair out from behind him, and stomped away, exiting the front door.

“Kurt was raped, Finn.”

“That didn’t happen.”

“Finn …”

“That did not happen to my brother.”

“It did, Finn, and you have to deal with this now before we get there, because Kurt is going to need you. There’s no time for denial or anger. Neither of those things will help your brother. Do you understand me? _Kurt needs you_. He needs you to be strong for him.”

He said nothing and looked down, swatting away the tears already slipping from his eyes.

“Was it Blaine?” Sam asked, setting his jaw and ignoring his own tears.

“Yes. He and Kurt went to a gay bar called Scandals tonight. It’s just outside the city limits. Apparently Blaine was drinking and acting like an ass, so Kurt left and waited for him in the car. When Blaine finally got there, Kurt was dozing in the back seat. And then Blaine …”

She cleared his throat. “Kurt fought. He fought hard. That’s apparent from his injuries, and if they’re that bad, he must have hurt Blaine too. According to Kurt, Blaine was unconscious when he left.”

“He called the cops?” Finn rasped as Puck stormed back inside.

She paused. “Kurt walked twelve miles to St. Rita’s.”

Sam moaned low in his throat and put his head in his hands, shuddering with sobs.

“Anderson did this?” Puck snarled. “I’m gonna fucking murder that little shit.”

“You’re going to do what’s best for Kurt,” Carole snapped.

“That fucking is what’s best for Kurt!”

“What’s best for Kurt is being surrounded by people he loves, people who love him and on whom he can depend. Is that you, Noah? Are you that kind of friend to Kurt?”

“You’re goddamn right I am!”

“Then pull yourself together! This isn’t about you, Noah! This isn’t about me or Burt or Finn or any of your friends. This is about _Kurt_. This happened to _Kurt_. How we deal with it is by doing what _he_ needs, what _he_ wants. Too much control has already been taken from him. I won’t allow you to take more.”

Puck deflated and promptly burst into tears.

Carole blew out a shaky breath. “Now, I need you to understand what to expect when we get there. First of all, we will not be allowed to see Kurt.”

“What!” Sam exclaimed.

“Why the hell not?” Finn exploded.

“Because rape victims are guaranteed complete privacy and confidentiality by law,” she said. “Even though Kurt is still a minor, the law applies.”

“So he’s all alone?” asked a horrified Sam. “That’s awful!”

“Kurt is not alone,” Carole said. “The doctor asked if he wanted her to call Burt, but he didn’t. I don’t know why. I imagine Kurt didn’t want his father to see him that way. He asked that Coach Sylvester be called instead.”

"Makes sense,” Puck muttered.

“On what planet does that make sense?” Finn barked. “That gargoyle is evil!”

“She’s done more for Princess than we ever have,” Puck spat. “This isn’t about your hurt feelings, Hudson. It was Kurt’s decision, so we respect it.”

He jumped when a hand appeared on his shoulder.

“You’re right, son,” Burt said.

“You look like shit, man. Your heart okay?”

“Aside from being broken? Yeah.”

Puck nodded and looked away.

Burt bumbled around the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. “Your mom explain things, kiddo?”

Finn grunted.

“I need you on board here, buddy. Kurt’s going to need us, all of us, like he never has before. He won’t want to. He’ll fight us. I need to know you’re here for him.”

“I love Kurt!”

“I know you do, kiddo, but this is going to be hell.”

“I know,” Finn whispered.

“You don’t. You have no idea what to expect or what will happen. Like Noah said, this is about Kurt. We do what he needs, when he needs it. Everything else can fuck off. But that also means that we might not like how Kurt chooses to handle this. Don’t try and tell him how to do it, or I guarantee you will lose him.”

Carole turned and looked at her husband. “Honey?”

Burt’s jaws flexed as he considered his next words. “I’ve been through this before, which is how I can tell you that none of us is prepared for what’s to come. It’s different for everyone it happens to. There’s no guideline.”

“What do you mean you’ve been through this before?” Puck asked.

Burt took a large gulp of coffee, savoring the burn. “Kurt’s mom, Suzanne, was raped in college.”

“Oh, my god,” Carole whimpered. “Oh, dear god.”

“Kurt doesn’t know. Do _not_ tell him. It will offer him no comfort. The only reason I’m telling you this is so you can benefit from my very many fuck-ups. Now, it happened before I met Suzanne, and it’s going to be different for Kurt than it was for her. It’s always different. But there are things I want you to know.

“First, do _not_ ask Kurt about it. If he wants to talk, let him, but don’t ever try to force him. Second, do not touch him unless he initiates contact. Third, do not come up from behind him; if you’re approaching him, call out so he knows you’re coming. Are you boys getting this?”

They nodded.

“All right. Suzanne was attacked at a frat party by a stranger; Kurt was raped by his boyfriend. Same action, very different circumstances, but, like I said, no two victims will react the same way. Don’t try to predict Kurt’s behavior; it will change day to day, sometimes moment to moment. If he does decide to talk about it, be prepared for him to blame himself.”

“It’s not his fault!” Finn screamed.

“Of course not, but this isn’t a rational situation, son. Kurt will blame himself for going there. He will blame himself for waiting and not calling a cab. He will blame himself for not being strong enough to fight Blaine off. It doesn’t matter that he _did_ fight. What will matter to him is that, as far as he’s concerned, he didn’t fight hard enough. He’ll blame himself for how he dressed.

“He will blame himself for ever getting involved with Blaine. He _trusted_ that little shit, and you know that Kurt does not trust easily. He will go over every moment of that relationship, looking for signs he believes he should have seen, and second-guessing every choice he’s made.”

“You’re all smart boys, so I’m not trying to insult your intelligence. You know what rape is, so you understand what Blaine has done. The physical stuff, that’ll heal, but the emotional scars? They’ll get better over time, but Kurt will always carry them. There’s nothing you can do about that, so don’t try.

“Now, and this is important, Kurt might not want to see you. He might not want you near him. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that he was raped by another man. It’s instinct for him to pull away. It does _not_ mean that Kurt loves you any less or that he doesn’t need you. It just means he needs to work through this on his own.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm!” Puck exploded.

“I’m not. I’m raging inside. You think you’re mad? This is my _child_. You’re a father, Noah. Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me ask you to imagine it.”

Puck blanched and pulled in on himself.

“I helped create Kurt. I was the first to hold him after he was born. He fit in one hand. I'm the one who put him into his mother's arms. You think I’m not dying inside, that my guts aren't torn apart?

“For ten years, it was just me and him. I’m furious! I’m bordering on homicidal! I’m pissed as hell at myself that I let that monster in my home, the one place where Kurt has _always_  felt safe. I want to beat _myself_ for encouraging Kurt to date him. I want Anderson dead and I want to be the one to kill him. I’m sure you want to do it yourselves, but that doesn’t help Kurt. And that’s _our_ job: to help him. We help him however he needs, and that’s the end of it. Got it?”

Again, they nodded.

“What about school?” Puck asked.

“He’s not going back there,” Burt said adamantly. “I’m going to try like to hell to keep this from coming out. Hopefully I can, because they’re both minors, but I won’t send Kurt to that school, not the least of which is because Blaine is enrolled there. That place has never treated my boy right and is still filled with dickheads. Kurt could ace the GED now. I’ll hire tutors if he wants them, but he’s not going back there.”

“And our friends?” Finn whispered.

Burt sighed and looked at Carole, the two holding a silent conversation with their eyes.

“We should probably tell them,” Burt said, running a hand down his face, “just so Anderson doesn’t get to them first to spin a yarn where he’s the victim.”

“When we will be able to see Kurt?” Sam murmured.

“I don’t know, honey,” Burt said quietly. “Fact of the matter is that Kurt might not want to see any of us right now. I’m sure that’s why he had that velociraptor called and not me.”

“How could he call her?” Finn howled.

“You’re doing it right now, Finn,” Sam growled. “You’re blaming Kurt.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you are. You blame him for calling Sue and not us. If you ask him that same question? I’ll kick you in the nuts so hard that they’ll get enlarged in your fucking nostrils.”

Finn gaped, but Burt and Carole nodded at Sam with respect.

“Kurt called whom he wanted called,” Sam continued. “I don’t care that it wasn’t us, as long as he called _somebody_. I know people who’ve been raped, Finn. My last school was the five times the size of McKinley. It happened to far too many girls I know. And you know what? They never went to the hospital, they never went to the police, and they suffered in silence.

“Maybe that was the right choice for them, I don’t know, but Kurt asked for help. So we give it to him, no matter what it is, and part of that is respecting his choices. _Like Blaine didn’t do._ ”

Finn began heaving great gasps of air as tears rolled down his face. “I didn’t protect him!” he screamed, slamming his hands on the table and sending the crockery flying. “I _promised_ to protect him and I didn’t!” He picked up his coffee cup and threw it through the window. “Goddamn it!”

He collapsed forward as the sobs overtook him.

Burt rushed forward and grabbed him from behind. “This ain’t your fault, son, no fucking way, and you will _not_ take responsibility for what that son of a bitch did to our boy, all right? Don’t give him that power over you. _Blaine_ did this. _Blaine_ is responsible for this. Not Kurt, not you, not anyone other than him. And he _will_ pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm iffy with canon after season two, though I'm aware of it. I'm taking liberties with the timeline. Puck and Sam are already living at the Hummel house. Blaine and Kurt are at McKinley. The newer members of the club aren't there because I don't care about them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to leave this for a while because it hurts to write. I'm marking it as complete, though it's not. I don't know when or if I'll add more.

The ride to the hospital was made in silence, other than the occasional sniffle or the grinding of teeth. Burt and Carole kept reflexively reaching for the other’s hand, just to make sure each was still there, that this was reality and not some horrific nightmare.

Finn had his buds in and was blasting heavy metal. It was the only thing that drowned out the screams he heard in his head. Kurt’s screams. Screams of panic and rage and hurt.

He had failed.

He had failed _utterly_.

There would never be anything he could do, anything he could say, that would make up for this, that would give Kurt back some of what Blaine had stolen. There could be no more useless promises. A shower curtain wasn’t going to make this better.

Nothing would make this better.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Puck stared out the window. Dawn was starting to break across the town. It was cold and gray, which he felt was appropriate. Lima had always been more of a prison to them than a home. 

 _Them_. Not just him. Not any longer.

Somewhere along the line, he had either ignored or had been ignorant to just how important these people had become to him. They were a team. They were a  _family_.

They loved like family, hated like family, and fought hard like family. And one of their own - the youngest, the baby, the most innocent despite his sharp silvered tongue - had been hurt in perhaps the most heinous way possible.

Worse, it had been done by another member of their family. One who had wormed his way in despite the objections Kurt had never heard, didn't know about.

Puck knew that Kurt felt Blaine was more liked than him, but that wasn't true. Blaine was tolerated, yes, perhaps liked by a few, but Kurt was  _beloved_.

But no one had ever told him that, and it was only now that Puck understood just what a mistake that had been.

Over and over in his mind he played what little he knew about rape, facts and statistics cobbled together from articles and news reports and bad television movies. He felt ashamed because, until this happened to Kurt, he had never considered it to be real.

One in four.

He swallowed heavily. If that were true, if it were anywhere near the truth, that meant he knew at least several people to whom it had happened. Cheerios. His MILF Squad. Most of his family, those that he acknowledged, were women.

There were six girls in Glee, which worked out to a possibility of one and a half. Whatever the fuck the half was supposed to mean.

He wondered if it had. Happened to any of them. He prayed to God it hadn’t.

One in four.

Quinn. Santana. Brittany. Mercedes. Tina. Rachel.

He had known the first three since kindergarten, Tina since elementary school, and Rachel way back in Hebrew school. Mercedes had moved to Lima freshman year.

And he couldn’t allow himself to think only of the girls. Not now. Finn. Sam. Mike. Artie. Matt. He couldn’t even remember where the hell Matt moved to, yet they still talked on Facebook.

Who else? Lauren? Mr. Schuester? Miss Pillsbury? Sylvester?

Cheerios? Jocks? Other glee clubs?

He feared for his sister. His mom. Beth. Even Shelby.

One in four.

It could be anybody. It could happen to _anybody._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam was sandwiched tightly in between Puck and Finn, desperately trying to remember how to breathe.

He felt Finn vibrating with anger, could _smell_ the rage wafting off him.

For the first time, he was actually afraid of Finn. After more than a year of watching Finn play everything from lovable idiot to spoiled toddler throwing tantrums, he could safely say this was a side he had never before seen and it was terrifying. He had absolutely no trouble believing the boy sitting next to him could and would easily kill Blaine.

Part of him was actually rooting for it.

Puck, the hothead, the volcano, was just deeply sad.

Sam knew Kurt and Puck had some kind of weird friendship, stretching back to when Kurt was still at Dalton. Not many people knew, but Puck had been one of the few to drive to Westerville to visit Kurt. Sam had tried to tag along once, but had been turned down flat. He had been so jealous at the time, but now he just wondered what Kurt and Puck had talked about.

Puck had always returned from those visits not necessarily happier, but lighter, as though he had found some measure of peace. Puck was still a mystery to him, as he was to most people, but he assumed Kurt had figured the other boy out. No surprise there. Kurt usually knew what made people tick.

He stole another quick glance at Puck.

That was what heartbreak looked like, Sam imagined.

He slipped his hand inside Puck’s own, relieved when he wasn’t shaken off. He was somewhat shaken when Puck squeezed back.

He should have stopped this before it ever could have happened. If he hadn’t been such a coward and just told Kurt how he felt, maybe Kurt never would have been with Blaine. But he hadn’t because he had been scared. Not of what other people would say, but of what _Kurt_ would say.

Sam knew he was pretty average. He was cute, his abs maybe made him even hot, but looks faded. His grades were solid, but weak. He wasn’t dumb, but he wasn’t that bright either. He was decent on a football field, but he would never go pro. He was just … middling.

Kurt wasn’t. There was nothing about Kurt, good or bad, that was in any way average.

Kurt was always so full of life. He had a _spark_. There was no limit to what he could do. What the hell would he want with an average nobody like him?

Sam was embarrassed he didn’t even have the decency to keep it to himself. It was worst kept secret in town. Quinn knew. Brittany and Santana. Tina. Probably Artie. Maybe Mercedes.

Hell, his own parents knew. Even Stacy and Stevie knew!

Everyone but Kurt.

At first, Sam had thought maybe Kurt _did_ know, but was just too polite to say anything. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he was appalled. Maybe he didn’t know how to handle it.

He had never allowed himself to consider Kurt might possibly be able to love him back one day.

He never thought Kurt might just have been as scared as he was.

Maybe Kurt had been waiting for him to make the first move. When that never came, he had moved on. Or Blaine had moved in. Now he better understood those smug looks Blaine would sometimes aim at him.

Living in the house was as much a burden as a reprieve. Kurt was everywhere. Even when he wasn’t home, he was everywhere. He would hear Kurt’s laughter echoing from an empty room, or smell his cologne as he passed the door to the basement.

Sam tried really hard not to be a stalker. He tried to be a good friend. He tried to be someone on whom Kurt could depend. He hoped he’d succeeded with those last two.

How could this have happened? How had they all missed the signs?

Surely there had been signs. Stuff like this didn’t just come out of nowhere, did it?

Had Blaine done this before? Had he done it to someone else? Had it been done to him, and that’s why he was like this?

Because there had to be a reason. He needed there to be a reason. Not for himself, but for Kurt. Even the idea that Kurt might blame himself for this was more than Sam could bear.

Why? Why had this happened?

Blaine was horny? He had two hands.

How could someone get pleasure from hurting so badly someone they’re supposed to love so much?

Sam didn’t understand. He never wanted to understand that.

He wanted it to be yesterday. He wanted a TARDIS. He wanted to be Captain America so that he could save Kurt. He wanted this not to be real.

He knew what happened, but he still couldn’t quite grasp it. It was like something dangling in front of him and, when he reached out to grab it, it was ripped away.

Like Kurt’s heart.

Why was Sam Evans always _so stupid?_


End file.
